


Power

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Niffin Eliot, multiple attempted murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10871448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: Eliot’s hands pause mid-cast as a blue flame erupts around him. Quentin tries to run towards him, screaming his name, but Margo pulls him back, unusually silent, as Eliot screams out in pain, the blue light engulfing him whole. Quentin struggles against Margo’s hold, but her arms wrap around him, and she holds her ground. Eliot’s eyes dart across the clearing towards them, then up towards the sky as he screams the rest of his soul away -And then he’s gone.“No!” Quentin screams, finally pulling free from Margo. He whips around, glares at her as tears well in his eyes. “We could have stopped him!”She shakes her head, setting her jaw as she swallows. “No,” She says, voice trembling, as she looks past him towards where Eliot had been before, “No. We couldn’t. You know that.”“You don’t!”





	Power

Eliot’s hands pause mid-cast as a blue flame erupts around him. Quentin tries to run towards him, screaming his name, but Margo pulls him back, unusually silent, as Eliot screams out in pain, the blue light engulfing him whole. Quentin struggles against Margo’s hold, but her arms wrap around him, and she holds her ground. Eliot’s eyes dart across the clearing towards them, then up towards the sky as he screams the rest of his soul away -

And then he’s gone.

“No!” Quentin screams, finally pulling free from Margo. He whips around, glares at her as tears well in his eyes. “We could have stopped him!”

She shakes her head, setting her jaw as she swallows. “No,” She says, voice trembling, as she looks past him towards where Eliot had been before, “No. We couldn’t. You know that.”

“You don’t!”

She sneers, jaw trembling as he turns her gaze on him. She’s barely holding herself together. “You think if I thought for a second we could have stopped this I would have just stood back and watched it happen? Go to hell, Quentin.”

Before Quentin can respond, a voice appears behind him, and Margo’s eyes go wide as she staggers back a step. “Yes,” it says, “ _Go to hell, Quentin_.” His heart stops as he slowly turns around to face him. Eliot. Blue streaks through his skin like fire, sizzling out as it reaches air. There’s a coldness to Eliot’s gaze, empty and so different to the darkness usually hidden beneath them. He tilts his head, examining Quentin as he does so. “I never realized how small you were,” He murmurs, “Fragile. Like a fucking flower.” Laughing, he takes a step forward, “Meager and meaningless.”

Quentin chin quivers as he takes a step back. Margo’s hand reaches forward and grabs his, pulling it back towards her, while he stares up at the towering him of Eliot - _Niffin_ Eliot. His head bobs as he shakes it, tries to work the tears out of his eyes before they can well over and down his cheeks. “Eliot …” He whispers, the sound cracking as it makes its way out of his throat.

“Poor little Q,” Eliot murmurs, turning around and taking slow, deliberate steps away from them. “So sad,” His tone is mocking and high, but falls to a dead monotone as he adds, “ _Always so fucking sad_!” He turns back around once he’s a few feet away from them, and leans to the side, smirks over Quentin’s shoulder at Margo. “And you.” He laughs, shaking his head, “Little miss Margo. Tell me _Margo_ ,” He chimes, “How does it feel to be as alone as you’ve made everyone else in your life?”

Quentin looks back at her. She turned her gaze down on the ground, but he can see the tremble in her chin, and the droplet of water that falls as soon as she tilts her head downwards. He knows it’s not Eliot’s words affecting her. Words don’t affect Margo. He clenches his jaw and looks back at Eliot, who’s watching them with a smirk.

“This isn’t you, Eliot.”

An eyebrow perks, “Oh? Isn’t it?”

“No.”

Fiery blue bursts from him as he rushes forward, and grabs the front of Quentin’s shirt, dragging him up onto his toes. “Little Q thinks he knows everything,” He growls, hot breath rushing over Quentin’s forehead, “You don’t know anything.” And then he lets go, and Quentin falls to his knees as Eliot adjusts his vest. “I do,” He says, soft, as he turns his gaze up to the sky. “I know _everything_.” His gaze flickers over to them; Quentin crumpled on the ground, and Margo frozen above him, “And I don’t wish to waste another moment with you disgusting, pathetic little people. Ciaò.”

He pushes up, and then he’s flying up, up, up into the sky and disappearing into the night.

A hefty breath rushes out of Margo as she drops to her knees next to him, hands on his shoulders. “Q,” She says, trying to gain his attention, while he looks up after Eliot. “Q - are you alright?” Her voice breaks, and he shakes his head, turning to look at her. He nods, slow, numb. His right hand reaches up, presses against where Eliot’s burning hands had torn his shirt, and white hot knuckles dug into his chest. She grabs the sides of his face, forces him to look at her. Her eyes check him, appraising, flipping back and forth between his right and left eye, before she’s rushing in, pulling him as tight as she can into a hug, his arm stuck between them, elbow digging into her ribs.

He readjusts, so they can hug each other properly and she buries her face in the crook of his neck. Her chin pushes at the fabric of his shirt, and he lets a hand rest on the back of her head, cradling her.

She’s the first one to break, a low whine that comes out of nowhere, until she’s sobbing openly into him.

His eyes well, but he just holds her tighter, whispers into her hair, “He didn’t kill us. He’s still in there.” And his eyes flicker up again, towards the sky as he adds, “We just have to find him.”

*

Alice and Penny give him the answer, though they don’t realize it. Even if they had, they couldn’t stop him, even if they brought in an entire army. He’s tempted to tell Margo, to give her the chance to help him, but she hasn’t left her room in weeks, and a part of him knows she’ll warn the others to keep him from doing it. She’ll ask him if he’s crazy, refuse an answer and declare it true. And maybe she’s right. Maybe he is crazy. But he doesn’t care. When he saves Eliot, she’ll forgive him and they can be a whole family again. And he means when, not if. Because, though it’s never been done, he will save Eliot. Bring him back.

And it all starts right here. All thanks to Alice’s books, and Penny’s peeking into her head, and complaining about everything he finds there. And Quentin’s books on wards - because if he hadn’t upgraded his wards, and ensured Penny stays out, then this wouldn’t be happening. He’d probably be tied up somewhere in the cottage until somebody decides to either wipe his mind - a threat that’s been made against both him and Margo in the past three weeks - or declare him mentally incapable, and send him to a special mental facility reserved for magicians.

Neither of which is he willing to risk.

Of course, he hasn’t taken any precautions in case Eliot can’t be saved. No box, no cage, no spell. Nothing to save himself. He wants to say it’s because he knows Eliot’s too strong, too clever, to be boxed or tricked, but the secret, deeper part of him - the part that needed the extra wards, knows it’s because he doesn’t care anymore if he dies. If Eliot kills him, he walks into that fate with knowing, wide open arms. He accepts it. Eliot could kill him.

“It takes an idiot,” A voice calls, “To do what you’ve just done.” Eliot’s tongue clicks, as he suddenly appears in Quentin’s line of sight. He leans down and picks up the bottle of top shelf whiskey off the summoning circle, and smirks as his eyes blink up at him. “A drunken idiot, at that.” He hums, tossing the empty bottle on the ground and standing at full attention. “What did this drunken idiot think would come of summoning me, I wonder?” He takes slow, deliberate steps forward, tilting his head as he eyes Quentin. “I showed you mercy last time. I won’t be so nice this time, _Little Q._ ”

Quentin flinches at the tone. It’d been a playful nickname in the past, but now it’s just another bite at him. He shrugs, drunkenly, leaning up against the tree. “Then kill me, El.” He mutters, waving a hand. And then Eliot’s suddenly kneeling in front of him, narrowing his eyes with a tilt of his head. Quentin jumps, bark digging in through his shirt and into his back, head thumping up against the trunk.

He groans, reaching up to rub at the back of his head, but Eliot’s hand reaches out and stops him, grabbing him by the wrist. “What is this?” He questions, quiet. “A drunken, pathetic mess summoning me? And expecting me to make his death quick and easy?” He scoffs, dropping Quentin’s wrist. His eyes flicker as they catch the burns marks left behind but the look is gone so fast, Quentin’s not even sure it was ever really there. “You’re fucking pathetic. This,” He pushes up, and makes a wide sweeping motion with his arms, spinning in one quick circle, “Is all you’ve ever wanted. And you can’t even be happy. You disgust me, you arrogant, little _twat._ ” He spits the words down at him.

Quentin nods. “No. I can’t be happy.”

Eliot rolls his eyes, suddenly swooping forward to kneel in front of him again. “Is this the part where you whine about your best friend being dead? Boo fucking hoo, Quentin. People die every day. Get over it.”

“People die, yeah,” Quentin swallows, pushing up so he can sit upright and stare straight at Eliot, “I don’t care about other people. You’re the only one I care about.”

“Well,” Eliot hums, standing up, “That’s just too fucking bad. Because you,” He points down at him, the motion slow and dramatic as he lowers his arm, “Don’t matter to me. At all. In fact,” He flicks his gaze upwards, a slow smirk building on his lips, “I feel absolutely nothing for you, Quentin. Beautiful black emptiness.”

“You used to love me.”

Eliot scoffs, kneeling again in front of him, wild eyes searching him as blue fire flickers beneath them, “Like a fucking idiot, yes. I loved you.” He sneers down at him, “But I’ve learned what an utter waste of space you are. And, god, does it feel good to not be bound by some stupid, petty little crush on literal mental patient Quentin Coldwater.” He rolls his eyes, jumping up, “Honestly. I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”

Quentin looks up at him, nodding along. “I don’t know either.” He sighs, reaching down to push himself up. He uses the tree to help him along the way wincing as the bark digs through his shirt, scratches all up and down his back the whole way. Eliot watches him, eyes narrowed with curiosity. Heaving a deep breath, Quentin pushes all his weight up against the tree, and looks up at Eliot defiantly. “You’re better off just killing me, Eliot.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because every time I miss you, I’ll summon you until you finally give in and snap my neck, or bludgeon me, or whatever method you choose. I’ll summon you night after night after night, trying to get you back until you kill me.” His fingers dig into the sides of the tree as the world dips and dances around him, dizzy from the alcohol, “That’s the only way you’ll be free of me.”

“Or,” Eliot whispers, stepping in close, “Until you pull out that pretty little box you’ve got saved just for me.”

Quentin shakes his head, closing his eyes as Eliot’s breath ghosts over him. “No box,” He murmurs, “I didn’t get one. I won’t get one.” His eyes flutter open, and Eliot’s watching him curiously, “No spells. No traps.”

A finger buzzing and flashing blue reaches up, searing along Quentin’s jaw as Eliot eyes him, finger stroking down until he’s resting on the crook of Quentin’s neck. It burns, red hot and angry, and he wants to cry out, but Eliot snaps the fingers of his free hand, and no sound can come. He smiles, cruel and not at all himself. “Pretty little Q was so sure I wouldn’t hurt him,” He murmurs, “That he came without a back up plan.” His thumb slips across Quentin’s throat, over his adams apple, settling on the other side, while his fingers stay there, in the crook of his neck. Quentin’s eyes squeeze shut, taking deep angry breaths as the pain burns through him. Tears well at the edges of his eyes, sinus’ burning soft in comparison to the searing pain across the column of his throat.

The tears sneak out through the corners of his eyes, slipping down his cheeks, a soft soothing warmth in comparison to the raging fire.

“You were wrong,” Eliot says, clear and emotionless.

And then his hand tightens, tighten, tightens around Quentin’s throat, squeezing as he uses his grip to lift him up until his feet are off the ground, and the only thing Quentin can feel is the bark against his back, and the fire at his throat. He opens his eyes, finds himself looking straight into Eliot’s. His hands drop to his side, as he gasps for air, choking as the pressure against his esophagus intensifies, until no air can get through at all. His feet kick beneath him, crashing against the tree trunk, and Eliot’s shins, but Eliot doesn’t even flinch. His grip tightens, and then his eyes lock in on Quentin’s.

And he stares. Quentin tries to relay every last thing he wants to say, all the last words that he didn’t get to when Eliot turned into a Niffin, all the things that he’d forgotten, all of it through his eyes. So that Eliot knows even in this action, even as if pulls all the life out of him, he loves him. _He loves him_.

He loves him. He loves him. He loves him. He loves him. A mantra dancing in his head and in his eyes.

Then, as he closes his eyes, the world going dark around him, there’s a frightened gasp, and he’s falling to the ground in a crashing heap.

When he opens his eyes, he’s sitting up against the trunk again, and a flashing figure is sitting in front of him, quiet and calm, waiting. Lightning electrifies their skin, and for a moment, he thinks he’s actually dead. But his vision clears, and he coughs, angry and hacking, breathing in air through an angry, swollen throat. His hands come up, grab at the skin - but it’s not burning anymore. The skin is healed, and all that remains as evidence is the aching memory of Eliot’s hand pressing in on him. He lets his gaze wander up until the vision in front of him clears.

It’s Eliot. Sitting on his knees, watching him with wide eyes. The fire burns though his cheek, sizzling out, ever few seconds as Quentin blinks up at him.

They watch each other for a few moments before Quentin tries to speak. Eliot’s breath hitches and he waves a hand, and suddenly Quentin’s voice comes back to him. He holds his hand to his throat, stares at him, confused. “You didn’t kill me,” He croaks. His vision blurs again, but it’s tears welling in his eyes that cause it.

Eliot nods, reaching forward, tentative, to Quentin’s cheek, but he stops as Quentin unconsciously flinches. His chin wobbles, and he looks up at the sky like he’s reading to fly off, and never come back, but Quentin reaches forward with his free hand, grabs onto the burning energy that is Eliot’s flesh, and holds on. It burns at his skin, but Eliot looks down, snaps the fingers of his free hand, and something cool envelopes Quentin’s skin, soft and sweet, and the burning disappears. His eyes flash up to him. It almost looks as if he, also, has tears in his eyes, but Niffin don’t cry.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

Eliot shrugs, looking down at their hands. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. But then he looks back up, the blue flashing faster and angrier through him. It sizzles down his cheeks, almost mimicking the look of tears. “I have the whole universe at the tips of my fingers,” He says, looking down at their hands again. His thumb brushes over Quentin’s knuckles, and Quentin feels a soft shock course through him. “I know everything there is to know. I can go where I like, when I like. I am a fucking _god_.” The word cracks as his eyes come back up to meet Quentin’s. “I would have killed you.”

“ _Why didn’t you_?”

“I couldn’t. I -,” He pauses, eyebrows furrowing as his gaze locks on the three behind Quentin. “I felt you dying. I felt every part of you slipping away, and it was like everything came back to me. Just for a second.” He takes a shuddering breath, narrows his eyes in on Quentin’s face, “Everything is red. Red power, red death. But then, there you were, and I couldn’t even feel the power. All I could feel was you, and the idea of a universe without you in it, felt wrong. Like it’d be broken.” He shakes his head, hanging it low, “I don’t know what happened. All I care about is the power.”

Quentin nods, pushing away from the tree, flinching as pain soars through his knees and back, and moves until he’s close enough to Eliot that he can hear his breathing. “We can fix this, Eliot.”

Eliot looks back up. “I’m not giving up this power,” He says, “It’s - It’s more than I’ve ever dreamt.” He pauses, swallowing, “But I don’t want to give you up either. I can’t - it. It doesn’t feel right without you. How is that even possible? I don’t feel anything. But you … “

“I love you,” Quentin says, reaching up with his free hand to cradle Eliot’s cheek. “ _I love you._ I’m not giving up on you, Eliot. Don’t ask me to.” He raises his eyebrows to emphasis the point. “I’m not letting you go. Even if you decide to kill me, even if something else kills me. I don’t care. I’m not letting you go. Do you understand me? If you want to leave and never come back, you will have to kill me. No exceptions. No spells. No escape. I will summon you every day for the rest of my life if it means five more minutes each day with you. Even if those five minutes  -,”

Eliot surges forward and presses his burning lips to Quentin. It’s just a quick brush before he’s pulling away and reaching up to cup his jaw, “I can’t,” He whispers into the electric air between them. The sizzling sparks make Quentin’s hair stand on end, goosebumps dancing all along his skin as small shocks press into his cheeks. “I can’t feeling anything but you. When I touch something, it’s just … knowledge. What it’s been, what it will be. People are just shells. But when I touch you,” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “I feel something beneath the fire. Something good and pure.”

“Eliot -,”

“And I almost snuffed it out,” He squeezes his eyes tight, before they open, flashing an angry blue beneath the familiar brown, “How can you ask me to risk that?”

Quentin shrugs, “We can work on the murder. We can work on it all. You’re not dead, Eliot. You’re reborn, you just need to learn about the world again, learn how to feel again. I can help you. _We_ can help you.”

“We?”

Quentin nods, “Margo, Penny, Alice, me. All of us.”

“They wouldn’t -,”

“You’re supposed to be a god, you should know Margo would do anything if it meant having you back.”

Eliot pulls away, shaking his head. “I’m not back, Quentin. I’m a fucking niffin. Eliot’s gone. All that remains is power and knowledge and -,”

Placing a hand over Eliot’s mouth, Quentin shakes his head. “You’re in there. You would have killed me if you weren’t. The only thing that separates you from the rest of us is the fire burning through your veins. And your immortality. And the whole knowledge of the whole expanse of the universe thing  …”

“And the unusual obtainable powers?” The words come out muffled and hot agains the palm of Quentin’s hand.

He scoffs. “You’ve always been a better magician than everyone else.”

“Q … “

“ _Please_.” The word comes out more urgent and desperate than he intends, but he barrels on. “I need you.”

“Even after everything I’ve said?” Quentin nods. “Everything I’ve done?” He nods again, quicker. “Everything I may do in the future?” Eliot eyes whims squeezing his hand, “I’m not a pet you can leash, Quentin. I - I will do things you won’t approve of. I’ll scare you. I’ll hurt people.”

Quentins brow furrow. “You could choose not to.”

“I could. I won’t.”

“You’ll try?”

Eliot watches him for a few beats, before sighing with a halfhearted nod of his own. “I’ll try. But I make no promises.”

*

When Quentin returns to the house, stumbling, with Eliot holding up, Penny and Alice, and surprisingly, Margo, jump to their feet, on red alert. Margo’s eyes dart to Eliot as fear flashes across her face, and she takes a battle magic pose. Quentin waves a hand at her, and the others as they follow her lead. “No - don’t.” He says, holding his hands out in front of him in mock surrender, as he and Eliot move further into the cottage. “Don’t. _Please_.”

Margo shakes her head. “Q - whatever this is - that’s not Eliot. _Eliot’s dead_.” Her voice cracks, and her face crumples as she looks past Quentin, to Eliot looming over him.

And then Eliot’s across the room, standing in front of her and grabbing her wrists, as her legs give out beneath her. He helps her slowly fall to the couch, before sitting next to her. His eyes slowly flicker up to Alice and Penny. “Don’t,” He says, before turning his attention back on Margo. “Stop being a little bitch, Bambi,” He says. Her nickname falls with a stutter, like he’s not sure he should even be using it, but her eyes lift until she’s looking up at him through her eyelashes. “I’m dead but I’m not _dead_ dead.”

“You’re a fucking niffin, man!” Penny exclaims, glaring at Quentin from across the room. “I know you were up to something, you fucking idiot!”

Eliot suddenly appears in front of Penny, hand shooting out and grabbing him by the throat. Alice screams, scrambling to get away, and Margo watches on in silent, wide eyed shock. Quentin takes a careful step forward, as Penny attempts to gasp for air. “You don’t speak,” Eliot growls, leaning in closer to Penny as hands come up to claw at his wrist, “You don’t fucking _think_ about speaking to him like that.” His voice is low, angry, and there’s an electric undercurrent to it that chills the room.

“Eliot - Eliot, stop!” Quentin exclaims, grabbing onto the back of a chair to keep from stumbling to the ground. “Let him go!”

Eliot lets go, and Penny drops to the floor. And then he’s sitting next to Margo again, looking up at Quentin innocently. “Problem?”

“He’s - you can’t just kill people!”

Eliot’s eyebrows furrow, and he looks to Penny. Alice is kneeling next to him, casting a healing curse on his burns, and Eliot turns his gaze back on Quentin. “He’s not dead.” He says, “If I wanted him dead. He’d be dead.” He shrugs, wrapping an arm around Margo’s shoulders, “I’m not just killing people.”

Margo relaxes against him. “ _Fuck_ ,” She curses as she nuzzles into his chest.

She can’t let him go anymore than Quentin can.

*

The Dean doesn’t like it. Penny can’t fucking stand it. Alice gets used to it. Margo and Quentin don’t listen to anyone who tries to recommend boxing him, or spelling him. Alice secretly works on a way to bring him back, but Eliot burns every bit of research she drudges up as soon as she turns her back. He disappears at times, for days, weeks sometimes, even. But he always comes back. Goes straight to Quentin. There’s an adjustment period whenever he comes back, when he has to remember why it is he’s there, what it is that keeps bringing him back.

He almost kills Quentin three times over the course of the next two months - which Penny tries to use as an excuse to box him, but Margo threatens him with pain beyond measure, and he reluctantly backs away, says something along the lines on ‘your fucking funeral’ and lets it go for the moment. But there aren’t any real incidents until a second year see’s them on the back patio of the cottage and laughs.

“So it’s true! Coldwaters leashed himself a Niffin!” He whistles love and jovially, “Good job, Coldwater!”

And before anyone can even think to stop Eliot, the second year vanishes, and Eliot appears next to his friends, whispers low and dangerous, “Think before you speak.” And then all run in different directions. It takes Quentin nearly a week to convince Eliot to bring the student back from whatever universe he sent him to. When he does, he does so with a roll of his eyes, and an easy snap of his fingers, the air around them flashing blue until the second year appears with wild eyes and an apology on his lips.

And so this is their life. Eliot learns to sense the boxes, so he can destroy them before anyone can think to bring them to him and trap him forever.

Over time, Niffin Eliot becomes more like himself. More powerful, more dangerous, more reckless, but more Eliot.

It’s dangerous, but they don’t care. All that matters is that they’re all alive. And through every battle, every fight, every danger that comes their way - and there are a lot - the one common thing between them all is Eliot, standing guard over all of them, rolling his eyes as he sends a hand through the hearts of those wishing harm on his family, merciless and without remorse, the words, “ _God, can’t any of you do anything yourselves_?” dancing around the battlefield.


End file.
